


Hold On

by Sulwen



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), Glam Rock RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-22
Updated: 2010-11-22
Packaged: 2017-10-13 08:15:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/135107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sulwen/pseuds/Sulwen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A paranormal fic.  Something's after Tommy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hold On

“It's ok, baby, just hold onto me. You're all right. I've got you.”

Adam is on his back on the sofa, Tommy laying full-body on top of him, burrowing into his arms like he wants to crawl inside Adam's chest and hide there forever. He wraps himself around Tommy in every way he can, arms and legs, feet hooking on the inside of Tommy's ankles.

“There. You're not going anywhere. Not without me,” he says, projecting confidence he doesn't quite feel into his voice.

Tommy speaks into the warm skin of his neck, and Adam can hardly make out the words. “You don't know...you've never seen it. It's too strong, and it's finally caught up to me, and there's nothing you can do. Nothing anyone can do.”

“Hey...hey, Tommy, come on, look at me.” Adam nudges Tommy's face with his chin, not wanting to let go his grip for one second. Tommy resists for a moment, but eventually he relents, his eyes shifting up and up until they're looking into Adam's own. They take Adam's breath away for a moment, big and shining and absolutely fucking terrified. “Haven't we done everything we possibly could to prepare for this? Read all those books, and did the rituals, and even learned some chanting?”

Tommy nods and sniffs back a whoosh of air, but he doesn't looked convinced. “Are you sure you remember it right?”

“Just like learning new lyrics,” Adam says, and has to laugh at himself, despite the situation.

Tommy laughs too, a dark little thing that doesn't sound like happiness, but is a distinct improvement on abject terror. “Never thought American Idol would be preparing you for fighting demons, did you?”

Adam squeezes tighter and shakes his head. “No. I really didn't. Although I do think some of the other contestants might have sold their souls to get on.”

The shadow of a smile appears on Tommy's lips, and Adam's just starting to feel a tiny bit better, like maybe this will all be ok after all...and then the lights go dark.

Tommy goes very, very still, not even breathing, and Adam tries to match him. Maybe if they don't move, it won't know they're here. A scene from Jurassic Park floats through his head, strangely relevant, and he wonders if a demon is scarier than a T-rex. He thinks probably yes.

Suddenly, a strange light appears, its source down the hallway and around the corner, out of sight. Adam can see down the hall over Tommy's shouder, over the far arm of the sofa, and in that light all the angles are wrong, lines that should be orderly going off-kilter, walls suddenly painted a sickening white – the white of maggots, of dead flesh, of ash. Everything seems to sway, to turn, dimensions blending and crossing, and it's sickening, makes Adam's head spin, and he wants to close his eyes, look away, but he _can't._

Tommy's hidden his face again, and Adam can feel him breathing, hot and wet against his skin. His arms are wrapped up around Adam's head, and his fingers are gripping into his hair, too-hard, painful, hanging on to whatever they can reach. Adam can feel his own heart pounding in his chest. He'd believed it when Tommy had told him the story, the whole horrible ordeal, with a straight face and fear in his eyes, of course he had. But this...seeing the creeping, twisting thing just down the hall, feeling the way the air grows thick and oily, hard to force into his lungs, the smell of sulfur so thick he can almost taste it...this is completely different. This is _knowing,_ right down to his bones, that demons are real and there in one in his house, right now.

Adam can feel it coming closer, closer, and when it finally rounds the bend and comes into view, his hands clench down reflexively into Tommy's back, making him hiss and flinch under the bite of Adam's nails. The demon is no shape at all, obscured in a cloak of roiling darkness, but within that outline of nothingness Adam can see everything he's ever been afraid of, failure and heartbreak and dying alone.

The shape stops, coming no closer, and Adam stares at it, wide-eyed, frozen, hoping pointlessly that it'll just turn around and disappear and let them get back to their lives.

And then he feels Tommy move over him, a sharp jerk that surprises Adam enough to let him tear his eyes away from the demon, look down to Tommy, find out what's up.

“What--” he starts, but then Tommy moves again...but no, it's not like that. It's like...like he's being _pulled,_ pulled down Adam's body. Toward the demon.

Tommy's voice is all rising panic, high and small and urgent. “Adam...Adam...oh god...don't let it have me, please don't let it take me, Adam, please!”

Adam redoubles his grip, muscles straining under the pressure, and Tommy's going to be bruised all over if they make it through this.

“Just hang on, baby. It can't take us both, remember? Hold on and we're fine. We're good,” Adam says, and he finds to his surprise that he's almost shouting to be heard, though over what he doesn't quite know.

Tommy's shaking so hard he can barely breathe, and his words are broken when they come. “Can't...I can't...it hurts...”

“I know it does, Tommy, I know it hurts. Come here, let me...” Adam pulls Tommy back up, straining against the invisible force trying to steal him away, gets him close enough for a kiss. He pours everything he is into the kiss, everything he feels, everything he's ever said and everything he's never been able to say, because this might be his very last chance.

But the demon is possessive, and as Adam deepens the kiss, it gives a shrieking cry of rage, of jealousy, and suddenly Tommy is pulled so hard that Adam's grip breaks, and Tommy's hands lose their hold on Adam's hair, leaving behind only the sharp sting of the strands they've taken with them, and it's almost all over right then and there. Adam's almost too slow, but he throws his body into motion and grabs hold of Tommy's hands, bracing his feet against the arm of the sofa and hanging on for dear life.

Tommy's crying now, hyperventilating with fear, eyes wild. He shakes his head frantically from side to side, and his words are a rushed babble. “Too strong, it's too strong, I can't, I can't, and I'm not ready, I don't wanna go.”

And then there's a burst of power that Adam didn't know he had, doesn't know where it came from and doesn't care. He gives one massive yank, so hard that he would be afraid for Tommy's shoulders if he had any fear left to spare, and it's enough to throw Tommy down on the sofa below him and slam his body down on top, pinning him there with all his weight.

The demon shrieks again, wordless, painful to hear, and Adam turns to glare hotly over his shoulder. His voice sounds weighty to his own ears, important, and that's fitting, because these are by a long way the most important words he's said in his whole life.

“You can't have him. He's _mine.”_

And then he goes right into a chant, some ancient words from some obscure book, just one of the dozens he's committed to memory. Something in him knows that it's the right one, instinct that runs so deep it hardly feels a part of him at all. The words flow easily from his lips, rhythmic and multisyllabic and foreign, and he doesn't know a thing of what it means except that it's his last, best hope to hang on to the best thing that's ever happened to him. Tommy is writhing under him, seizing like he's about to be torn to pieces, but Adam just focuses on the words, getting them out, getting them right.

The chant comes to an end, and for one horrible sinking moment, Adam thinks that it hasn't worked. And then that terrible off-color light is fading, and Tommy is going still under him, and he can breathe again.

He stays planted right there, afraid to move, until the lights come back on – the real lights. _Their_ lights. Then, slowly, he eases up onto his hands, moving his weight off Tommy as much as he can and looking down. Tommy's eyes are shut tight, and his face is still wet from the tears, and he hasn't moved a single inch.

“Tommy? Are you...are you ok?” Adam asks, really unsure what the answer will be, or if Tommy even _can_ answer right now. Adam wouldn't blame him if he couldn't.

It's a long time, but finally, Tommy does speak, tentative, quiet. “Is it gone?”

“Yeah, baby. It's gone. It's really gone.”

Tommy's eyes blink open, and he finds Adam, looks up at him. When their eyes finally meet, everything in Tommy breaks open, and he's crying again, this time in relief and gratitude. His next words are between frantic, hasty kisses. “Thank you...love you...thank you.”

Adam kisses him back, thankful for each press of lips, each whispered word of affection like he hasn't been in a very long time. And eventually, when he feels they can move, he stands up and hoists Tommy into his arms and takes him into the bedroom, and there they take turns showing each other exactly how grateful they are to be here and together and _alive._

Tommy passes out in Adam's arms, worn out as Adam's never seen him before, not even that time they did six cities in five days, sleeping the peaceful sleep of the truly exhausted. Adam's glad for that, for the simple joy of a warm, breathing Tommy right there with him, where he belongs.

And yet.

His eyes chase dark shadows in the corners of the room, dart to the door compulsively, searching for any hint of that sickening white light, and once or twice he could have sworn he detected a hint of sulfur in the air.

Hours later, he falls asleep wondering – wondering if he'll ever truly be able to relax again.


End file.
